


Carmilla

by himitsutsubasa



Category: Battle Creek (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Vampires, do not eat: dead pigeon inside, tags are accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 18:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3860227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himitsutsubasa/pseuds/himitsutsubasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her name was Carmilla and she was forgiveness until she couldn't take it anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carmilla

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of Course, He Makes a Better Vampire Than I Do](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3728116) by [IAmOnlyPartlyMajestic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmOnlyPartlyMajestic/pseuds/IAmOnlyPartlyMajestic). 



> This is not the fic I was going to write for this, but I started writing it and it got really angsty really fast. I'm going to try to write something hot and quick, but I'm having a hard time being light hearted.

Russ breathed slowly, eyes falling closed.  

Metal, warmth, life.

The one thing that people always romanticized was the blood. 

It was good. So good. God, it was better than sex and that was a thing he could do on a regular basis, a benefit of never getting STD’s and not making sperm. He could actually do whatever he wanted to do. No problems there, plumbing all in order. But yeah, there were drawbacks, like not having kids when he could have, when he was ready.

Carmilla had loved him until she cried and cried and cried herself dry. His Carmilla. His beautiful, lovely, ethereal Carmilla hung herself in their bathroom. 

No blood. She had thought about him, even then. He’d loved her long after. 

The thing about blood was not the sexualization,the romanticization. No, the part that felt like a slap to the face was the fact that it was partially true. Blood was a sweet, glorious ambrosia that stained the place where his soul had been dark red, drying to death in the end. It was good, but not the best part. The really heavy part was the person, the feeling of a soul, brushing against where his used to be. She’d felt like a bandage, a salve, over his gaping chest wound. It felt like he was whole again.

Sure, if anyone asked Dave or Malia, from the support group, they would have said that that just wasn’t true. Then again, neither of them, in their seventy combined years, had ever met someone who felt like heaven, who felt like forgiveness and acceptance and goodness that would never touch a man like Russell Agnew. 

He picked up a photo, or what was left of it. The image had faded away, faded into white, but he still kept it in the original frame. After all, what was the point of living in a house as old as he was, instead of a house as old as their children could have been, if he couldn’t keep that one photo of her, the one that faded around the second great war, the one he got out of fighting by being dead? There was no point. 

She had been his best friend. She had wanted him to be happy, even if she couldn’t be. 

His phone buzzed and Russ turned to the little device. Even across his decades, the last one had been the strangest. Big old boxes turned into these flat little bricks, practically makeup compacts, with glass and metal. They were strange, new, like the man calling him. 

There was no one who could make Russell feel hot, feel an itch under his collar, like Milton Chamberlain.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I will try to get vampire sex to you guys as soon as possible. Blood kink and everything. It's going to be great or awful and I don't know which.


End file.
